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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613052">A Bolt From the Blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraAeri/pseuds/ClaraAeri'>ClaraAeri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post-Calamity Ganon, Romance, rated explicit to be safe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:42:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraAeri/pseuds/ClaraAeri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A work exploring Hateno and a makeshift sanctuary.</p><p>  <i>Her basket's on the table, palms on either side of it. The house dark. Dim.</i></p><p>  <i>The door hasn’t closed behind her. Zelda turns her head, peering through windswept hair. Light pours in behind him: his silhouette standing there on the threshold of his own home like a vampire awaiting an invitation. She almost laughs at the sight. The man who cut the Devil to pieces is scared to follow after a woman with a chip on her shoulder? How far they’ve both fallen.</i></p><p>  <i>“It’s your house,” she points out.</i></p><p>  <i>Permission to enter. He does even though it’s not hers to give. It’s only a few steps, of course. Can’t break the rule. Five feet. Always five feet apart. The door closes. </i></p><p>  <i>She wants to break something. An old habit’s under heavy consideration.</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Zelink - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>462</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What Goes Unseen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>1. Hello! Welcome to my latest distraction from the other fan fic I'm supposed to be finishing.<br/>2. This is really just me indulging in different Hateno shenanigans / prompts, so it's largely another introspective experiment of mine lol<br/>3. I constructed this to be a one shot but realized it would be a very very long one shot so I figured I'd split it into two chapters and post the first half!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zelda’s slipping her boots on as carefully as possible. </p><p>Her fingers fumble with the leather as her eyes remain trained on the other bed: keeping vigilant watch for any alterations in Link’s breathing. He is a heavy sleeper when they’re in his house; but she still worries. He’s a trickster, after all.</p><p>Gingerly, she places her boot onto the first stair. The board creaks and she winces- however, her fear evaporates when he doesn’t so much as twitch.</p><p>“Slow and steady,” she mouths silently, watching the rise and fall of his back. It’s a reminder to herself and a plea to the unconscious man fifteen feet away.</p><p>One by one, she descends backwards, almost as if she is climbing down a ladder. The crickets outside are louder than her breathing, her palms against the wood- the cloak shifting around her shoulders.</p><p>A century ago, she’d done the same plenty of times. Running off to the library, sneaking into the kitchens, or dashing across the small bridge to her study during the deepest throes of the night. It was easier back then. Her home was of unyielding, impenetrable stone. The roar of hundreds of torches filled the halls, swallowing up the sound of her footsteps. The distant clanking of armored men marching along the ramparts. Flags rippling in the wind. Noise to blend with more noise.</p><p>Now she is surrounded by walls of groaning wood. Thin. Yielding. The night so quiet it rings in her ears. The beat of her heart. The beat of his heart, fifteen meager feet away.</p><p>After everything, she thought she’d never have to sneak her way around again. Let alone keep secrets. At least, not from Link of all people. But, history will always repeat itself, won’t it?</p><p>Zelda waits for the wind to pick up- the trees outside to creak and groan and moan in protest before she swiftly opens the door and clicks it shut behind her in one fluid motion. The wind dies. She heaves a sigh of relief when she doesn’t hear him moving inside the house.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she whispers to herself as she strikes a match. A lantern breathes to life. “What are you doing?”</p><p>It’s embarrassing, what she’s doing.</p><p>Standing, Zelda heaves a sigh and drifts around the house. Fingers graze old, warped wood: the shed’s entryway. Just as carefully as she left the house, she slips inside.</p><p>A month ago, it’d been empty. Link still doesn’t touch it. Unlike normal residents, he has no need for extra storage with his Slate. Gardening tools? Pointless, he said. He does all his garden work with a sacred weapon- what <i>little</i> he does in the first place.</p><p><i>’The blade never goes dull,’</i> he’d justified with a shrug. <i>’Cuts through everything, too.’</i></p><p>Zelda had laughed- making no attempt to lecture him. </p><p>It’d surprised Link: seeing that kind of leniency from her. Though she doubted he meant to convey that. It was the way his breath had gone quiet- the way his eyes had widened for the barest second- that told her it was an unexpected reaction.</p><p><i>‘Do you remember everything?’</i> she’d asked him that first week in Kakariko.</p><p><i>‘Yep,’</i> he’d said with a grin and a finger tapping at his temple. <i>‘Luckily, I think it all came back.’</i></p><p>It hadn’t though- and his surprise was exactly what told her that.</p><p>It was on their way to the Spring of Courage that she’d suggested he use the sword for cutting grass, after all. It was her joke. An inside joke for the two of them, one they repeated nearly everyday. It was their first real laugh together after he’d saved her from the Yiga- after her long winded, awkward apology.</p><p>Thus, she was left thinking, wondering if, perhaps, he didn’t remember as much as he thought. Or, he could have been lying to her for whatever reason. Zelda shakes the thought out of her head. She has other worries, such as filling in the gaps in her own memories.</p><p>It takes some footwork for her to maneuver around the piles of books and objects she’d begun to store in that shed. There’s sewing kits she’d bought from the seamstress in town, dye, books, papers, and tiny pieces of slate.</p><p>The lantern clacks when she sets it down.</p><p>It’s when she’s sitting in the very center of that small space that Zelda gently lifts fabric and begins to sew.</p><p>The needle pricks at her fingers. It leaves red dots on the fabric that was once her prayer dress, yet she doesn’t care. It isn’t meant for wearing anymore; it’s meant for practice. </p><p>A century ago, she’d sewn together garb for each of the Champions in less than six weeks. Now, it’s taken her four weeks to make one even stitching. She bites her lip, glancing at an open text. It’s a guide: a book containing pictures for the proper patterns.</p><p>Her eyes flit to the instructions. She still can’t read them.</p><p>Frustration spikes, and she returns to her needlework. There’s so much to catch up on.</p><p>After coming out of their individual stasis, Zelda remembered the past whilst Link remembered none.</p><p>However, the one critical difference between them was that he woke with his skills intact. He can read. He can cook. He can sew. He can remove rust from just about any neglected object his fingers snatch up along the roadside. All muscle memory and all self-sufficient.</p><p>But Zelda- well, she can only speak and summon lights in her palm. As good as a sentient torch, really.</p><p>The Burgeoning Scholar Princess, they’d called her. They’d called her a prodigy. Four languages she’d spoken. Elixirs, Sheikah technology, strategy, diplomacy, navigation-</p><p>She’d spent her whole life learning: chasing after one skill to the next trying to make herself useful all while lacking the one indispensable thing her country had needed.</p><p>An even trade, she supposed. All her accumulated knowledge, her identity, and the people she loved for power. Now, that power had faded. And now, she was fighting to regain all that she’d lost- all that time had weathered away with something as simple as disuse.</p><p>It may have been conversing with spirits which kept her from forgetting her own mother-tongue, as well.</p><p>No knowledge and no powers. What was she now? <i>Nothing,</i> she’s certain. </p><p>Hurt splinters through her chest. It makes her lose focus. Zelda’s fingers slip, the needle goes into her skin, and she tosses the cotton onto the floor with a hiss of pain. She cradles the injured hand, scowling at the pale fabric strewn and rippling across wood planks. It’s an utter mess of loose stitching and ugly patterns.</p><p>Patience. It’d come easily to her for a century. She was sure she could have waited one thousand years for him if she had to. She had all the patience in the world for Link; but it seems she can spare none for herself.</p><p>The <i>Burgeoning</i> Scholar Princess: reduced to sitting in a shed, learning how to read and sew on her own in secret. The Princess of Hyrule, the <i>Goddess Proxy</i> reduced to a girl too embarrassed to ask for help.</p><p>Zelda is embarrassed, having to rely on him for so much.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she whispers to herself for a third time.</p><p>She doesn’t have an answer. So, she wipes her hand and picks up that bloodied dress.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>There’s a finger poking her cheek. Zelda scowls and rolls over, curling into a ball.</p><p>“Zelda,” he says, chiding. There’s amusement in his tone. An undercurrent of laughter. “It’s ten. You’ve been asleep for twelve hours.”</p><p>Four, actually, if she can remember how to do math.</p><p>“Give me just a little-”</p><p>The sheets are ripped away along with the warmth they provide. A gasp escapes her. She has more than half a mind to throw her pillow at him; but seeing him standing there with a lazy smile on his face makes her think the cold isn’t so bad.</p><p>“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” he drawls. </p><p>The sheets fall from his hands, billowing onto the floor. The window is open: birds sing as curtains drift and fresh air tumbles into the house. He’s right. It’s a pleasant morning.</p><p>There’s a sigh before she drones, “...Good morning, <i>Sir Link.”</i></p><p>He gestures to a pile of folded clothing on her nightstand. “Finished laundry. Breakfast’s waiting, too.”</p><p>“Are you my <i>handmaid?”</i> she says as she crawls off her bed. </p><p>They’re still more than arm’s length from each other when her feet touch the floor, but he backs up anyway. A frown tries and fails to worm its way onto her face.</p><p>Always five feet between them: that’s one habit that stuck with him. She’d prefer if it hadn’t.</p><p>The thought’s intrusive.</p><p>Ridiculous. What distance do you <i>want</i> him to stand at? she asks herself. It was another question she expected not to have an answer to- to force her mind to drop the subject. However, the obscene image it happily presents almost makes her squeal like a rusty hinge.</p><p>Thankfully, she recovers in time to hear him speak.</p><p>“Nope,” he quips, “just scared of what Purah will do to us if we’re late.”</p><p>“I’m sure we can outrun her at her height.”</p><p>“Not so much. She’s got perfect aim.” </p><p>Zelda laughs, and that looks to satisfy him.</p><p>For a moment he turns to leave; yet there’s a pause. Blue eyes flick from head to toe, lingering on her face for half a second too long. Her paranoia makes her wonder if maybe he can see the tiredness there. Too many nights without sleep have left an imprint on her face by now, she’s sure.</p><p>That smile of his falters almost imperceptibly- a shadow sweeping over his features.</p><p>Oh, she doesn’t like that look on his face. Something’s cooking in his head.</p><p>“Did you go somewhere last night? Your boots were by the door,” his tone has no hint of the askance in his eyes.</p><p>She’d slipped up. They were by her bed last night. She’d been too worried about waking him going back up the stairs with those heavy things on.</p><p>“I… went on a walk,” it’s the only excuse she has. A partial truth.</p><p>His smile falls. “Dreams?”</p><p>Zelda hesitates, trying to gauge whether or not he’d believe her if she just said it was a simple walk-</p><p>But, she takes too long, and he draws his own conclusion.</p><p>“...The offer’s still there,” his tone is tentative. Quiet. Expression sobered.</p><p>It disarms her. Zelda suddenly feels as though she’s speaking to a ghost: the boy from a century ago seeping through and his visage a pall over the face before her. The memory his words conjure only cuts through her further.</p><p>The fourth night in Kakariko. Legs tangled in sheets, a steady heartbeat hardly an inch away.</p><p>It causes her to say something stupid. </p><p>“I- maybe.”</p><p>Not a confident refusal like it should have been.</p><p>Link’s mouth opens, his voice rather slow to follow. “Ok,” he says as if he hadn’t expected her to bend on the subject. A hand drags along the back of his neck and Zelda can’t help but remember what it was like to have her face tucked against it. “Just… let me know.”</p><p>She nods, the action like a twitching Guardian. “I should get dressed,” she mutters, refusing to look at him.</p><p>He leaves without a word. It’s another old habit she thinks he could do without.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Everyone in Hateno knows him. The town knows him.</p><p>The house they stay in knows him, too: bruised with his presence for longer than one would guess- the walls marked up by a version of himself less than half his height. It was something the blood in her had told her before he’d even confirmed it himself.</p><p>He’d panicked when he saw Bolson’s crew tearing it down, he’d laughed. Link’s childhood home, nearly reduced to brick and mortar.</p><p>The way she can sense these things is hard to articulate. Once or twice she’d tried to explain to Link how the history of objects reveal themselves to her. Their faded impressions. Like a stain. Like a bruise. Like a lingering scent. He nodded a few too many times with a wrinkled brow for her to believe she’d been making any sense.</p><p>Regardless, Zelda understands why he always wants an early start for their trip. Children stop him on the road to babble about weapons, odd statues, or a glittering stone they found. Elders thank him for herbs or heavy objects he’s carried for them. Farmers request his help in dispatching pesky monsters and herding goats. They can hardly make it ten feet before someone shouts his name.</p><p>None will speak to her, though. She’d once overheard two women remark that she had the presence of a ghost. Like standing in a graveyard, they’d said. Ethereal. Something not quite a person. A girl-woman who speaks with an accent no other Hylian in this age shares.</p><p>One hundred years ago, people called her warm. Kindly for a princess.</p><p>Now, the equivalent to a wraith.</p><p>It’s not like they know her well, either. Only four weeks has she been haunting their town. But, only a week more if she has her way. Another month if Link has his.</p><p>She watches on from the shade of a pavilion as he bickers with a young man accusing him of giving out <i>‘bad tips’</i> on purpose. Link’s waving him off, arms moving in spirited gestures. Confused, annoyed, amused, surprised, awkward. They’re expressions that pass over his face in all the brevity of thirty seconds.</p><p>It’s a change she’s had to get used to: his newfound ability to express himself. He’s loud. He likes to play pranks. He curses when he cuts himself and doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He’s open and friendly and rambles about this and that just as much as she did during their past lives.</p><p>How is it that they both share a past of violence and loss, yet he carries himself so lightly? Youth, perhaps. A youth she doesn’t have anymore.</p><p>Zelda can’t help but analyze this change. She’d caught many glimpses of this man arguing over crickets all those years ago, but never to such a degree with his impenetrable stoicism. A boy smothered by expectations. Ashes burying embers so thickly that nothing could coax them to life for long.</p><p>Nothing besides a shrine, a slumber, and a clean slate, that is.</p><p>Her mind briefly recalls what the townsfolk say about her. With some wonder, Zelda realizes it’s very possible they’ve switched places.</p><p>Inwardly, she rolls her eyes. It’s a marvel how much time she wastes thinking fancy thoughts like these.</p><p>Though, when Link glances at her and sheepishly gestures for her to wait just a minute more, she knows it’s best to be wary of these things. Those smiles of his that come and go so often now were once, and still are, a shameful obsession of hers.</p><p>But it wasn’t a problem back then, was it?</p><p>A century ago, she had her status to keep her emotions in check. She had a duty. She had eyes on her at all times to ensure she behaved appropriately.</p><p>Now, what did she have?</p><p>No witnesses, no looming duties, no status.</p><p>Nothing but a meager fifteen feet between their beds.</p><p>And now, he suggests they share one. To stave off her nightmares.</p><p>Little does he know she’d have to stave off her own temptation to touch him. </p><p>She’ll refuse that offer a second time. A maybe was not a yes. A maybe was not a confirmation. The last thing she needs is a waking nightmare to go with a sleeping one.</p><p>Besides, she thinks, he’ll be relieved to have his own space again. Won’t he?</p><p>All of this was Impa’s suggestion. It was <i>Impa’s</i> insistence that he make space for her during her visit with Purah.</p><p>Symin would pick her up. She would sleep on Purah’s floor. Not good enough, take Link’s house, Impa demands. No protest from him. That’s not bad, she thought; he’s off to Tabantha for a few weeks- she can return it when he’s back. Not good enough, still. Alone in an unfamiliar town? Impa balks. That house is not a castle. Not well protected.</p><p>The old woman sent an expectant glance in his direction. Brief as it was, the deep frown that marred his face had sent a spike through Zelda. </p><p>Still, he nodded and assured Impa that he’d put off his trip.</p><p>Once again, he’d let the expectations of others make a decision for him.</p><p>Zelda should’ve kept on with her protests; but she was too slow to fight off the half of her that leapt at any opportunity to be near him. By the time she found the words, Impa’s door was shutting loudly behind him.</p><p>Just a week more, she tells herself. And then, they’ll no longer be living or traveling together. And then, she won’t have to worry about either of them breaking old habits.</p><p>And then, he’ll be free of the ghost haunting him.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>They’re rounding the final bend to Purah’s lab as a gust of cold wind blows back her hood. Link yanks it back up for her as he walks past. </p><p>Blue flickers, and Zelda eyes the fragmented Guardians strewn above that building like holiday decorations. She thinks she should hate that technology, but she doesn’t. In a way, she thinks those broken husks are also victims.</p><p>Never one to knock, Link flings open Purah’s door and walks right in. Zelda skitters after him as Purah yaps from her table:</p><p>“Check it!” Symin’s greeting is drowned out by Purah’s next gibe, “Lookit you, right on time again. I gotta say, Her Highness has been a great influence on ya.”</p><p>“If we had it her way, we’d still be at the house,” he scoffs, feigning offense as he takes out the Slate. </p><p>Purah sends a rather pointed look Zelda’s way. She tugs her hood a little farther down and grins abashedly, unable to deny his accusation. Link snickers at the sight of it.</p><p>“Anyway,” he says, “you wanted this, right?”</p><p>He holds out the Slate, dangling it over Purah’s head like a treat. Clearly, he’s expecting her to jump for it. The Sheikah takes one lingering glance at that gesture before her lip curls.</p><p>“I’m gonna throw you in the furnace, you little <i>wiseass,”</i> she drones. </p><p>Link quickly hands her the device with an apology.</p><p>He plops in a chair, crossing his arms just as Purah waves at Zelda. “Zelly, Zelly- come here!”</p><p>She drifts over, smiling at the excitement on her face. The other girl-woman immediately launches into a mad ramble:</p><p>“I know we were supposed to work on getting more runes, but I had an idea yesterday. The sensor is just a communication app, right? It sends a signal out, the Shrines close by respond. So, about our letter problem- postmen getting robbed by Bokoblins yadda yadda- I figure we can make small pieces of tech that let us talk to each other if we fool the Slate into thinking they’re shrines… Might take some serious upgrades to the Slate’s range, though.”</p><p>“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” </p><p>Three nods. “Yeah- so I was wonderin’ if I could ask you to handle copying the data from that shrine down by Link’s house? You were always better at that, and I figure I can put Symin on getting Robbie’s diagrams for the sound hardware.”</p><p>Her heart sank. “Oh- are, are you sure I shouldn’t handle that?”</p><p>Pictures. Diagrams. She can do those.</p><p>“I’m afraid I won’t be of much use anywhere else,” Symin’s voice echoes from his corner, sounding apologetic.</p><p>Their director snorts. “Yeah, I haven’t even taught him the Slate’s operating system ‘cause Link’s had it. And I can’t help ya until I’m done fixing this dummy’s bike.”</p><p>Link pipes up, “Hey-”</p><p>“You threw <i>screws</i> into it!”</p><p>“It eats literally everything. How was I supposed to guess that screws would break it?”</p><p>She stamps her foot, jabbing a finger at him. “You can’t feed slate more <i>slate!</i> It’s <i>cannibalism!”</i></p><p>Zelda clears her throat loudly before Link can retort. When their heads snap her direction she chokes out, “I- I admit I am rusty on the details. It’s… been a year or two, you see.”</p><p>Purah lets out some kind of mirthful chuckle at that. “Oh, I bet. I’ve got some journals on it if that’ll help.”</p><p>Journals she can’t read, for certain.</p><p>“Yes…” she mumbles, “of course, thank you.”</p><p>“They’re over there,” she points to a set of overflowing library shelves. “Uh… somewhere. Linky, you help her.”</p><p>There’s a moment that he rubs an eye, looking sleepy. Zelda doubts the man has an excuse for being tired after having slept the entire night; yet, regardless, he yawns and saunters off. She crams down the anxiety before following.</p><p>He is, as expected, the one to find them based on the titles. From there on, hours are spent with her hunched over a table and flipping through pages she’s pretending to be able to read. </p><p>This is foolish, she’s telling herself. Just explain it to them. One hundred years without seeing Sheikah dialect- it's no wonder you’d forget. They’ll hardly care. They won’t judge you. You <i>know</i> that.</p><p>But, by that point, she’s still thinking this after the first hour and is too embarrassed to admit to the charade- what with being so far into it. The admittance is an explosive; confessing to one thing would lead to too many other confessions. Zelda isn’t sure she can handle the humiliation.</p><p>It’s alright, she thinks as she stares blankly at Purah’s handwriting. She’ll forgo learning the Hylian dialect and focus on relearning the Sheikah alphabet. Easy- it should be easy. She’s smart, isn’t she? She’s sure it’s somewhere in the books she has stored in that shed.</p><p>She’s the Burgeoning Scholar Princess. What’s a few letters to her?</p><p>Her lip threatens to tremble. Zelda blinks back watery eyes. </p><p>Why is she so <i>flustered</i> by this? It seems completely illogical. Baseless. What reason is there for so much shame?</p><p>What is this even <i>about?</i></p><p>It’s when she feels someone’s gaze on her that she glances up like a deer in torchlight. Link’s staring- looking up from his own books. His head cocks, and he asks, “Is it coming back to you?”</p><p>
  <i>Are you remembering?</i>
</p><p>“Yes! I must admit, I’m happy to be studying it again,” is her smiley reply.</p><p>A pause: it’s a brief hesitation before he sports a light grin. Something cooking in his head again, no doubt.</p><p>Despite this, he returns to his reading without a word.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Koto Pond: an unsanctioned detour from the roads in Faron. A trip Link allowed her to indulge in.</p><p>
  <i>'Look! Look at this- it’s a Bladed Beetle!’</i>
</p><p>She’d held up a bottle, pointing to the insect skittering around inside. The poor thing confused. Legs tapping against the glass. Link had leaned away from it just a bit, disgusted.</p><p>
  <i>'It’s wonderful for boosting strength-’</i>
</p><p><i>‘No frogs or bugs,’</i> he’d interjected, eyeing her warily.</p><p>Zelda scoffed and leaned back on her heels, water splashing at her ankles. Trees rustled overhead, casting rays of sunlight along the beds of water below. They danced over his face. His shoulders. That sword a glimmer of violet. It's not what she fixated on, though; somewhere along the way, the blue of his eyes had begun to stand out more to her than that blade.</p><p>
<i>'I know, I know!’</i> she huffed, swiping at falling leaves. He followed after her once she began their trek again. But, Zelda turned to walk backwards as she inquired, <i>’Tell me, have you used elixirs?’</i></p><p>A head shake.</p><p>
  <i>‘Why not?’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘Expensive.’</i>
</p><p><i>‘Ah, they are, aren’t they?’</i> she paused, holding up her captured beetle to the light. <i>‘I once attended a seminar for it, you know! If the elixir is potent enough, they say that it can boost strength the same way adrenaline does. But several</i> times <i>that. Unfortunately, it can cause some awful muscle tear and damage to ligaments. In the last century, they’ve had to start regulating them because of it. So, you have to have a license to make them, and no more than three ingredients per elixir.’ </i></p><p>She finally took a breath after that rant. She did, of course, coo a suggestion after, <i>‘You’d have to be</i> quite <i>strong to withstand them at their full strength… and I</i> am <i>certified. I could make one for you-’</i></p><p>
  <i>‘No, thanks.’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘Why-’</i>
</p><p>Zelda paid for her distraction when her feet caught on roots buried beneath the water. Link merely watched her stumble over them, flailing like a goose. Water splashing. She could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch into a smirk. Trickster. He didn’t warn her she was walking right into a tree. </p><p>Clearing her throat, she choked out the rest of her question, <i>‘Why not?’</i></p><p>
  <i>‘Nasty.’</i>
</p><p>He’s eaten worse. It’s an excuse. But to what end? Her lips pursed. <i>‘I promise I can make it taste better.’</i></p><p><i>‘No use to me, either.’</i> He swatted away each of her proposals like she’d been swatting at leaves. He had better aim.</p><p>Zelda grumbled a curse she knew he could hear. <i>‘Yes, you are strong, aren’t you?’</i></p><p>He blinked. <i>Is that even a question?</i> he seemed to ask, a lofty look on his face. There was a good chance he’d scowl if she told him he looked like Revali in that second.</p><p>Stubborn as always, she pressed, <i>‘Just for a little experiment?’</i></p><p>It was there for a fleeting moment: a smile that made her heart flip. </p><p>
  <i>‘Not today, Your Highness.’</i>
</p><p><i>‘Slippery.’</i> She put her hands on her hips, pouting at him. <i>‘Next time, for sure.’</i></p><p>His smile only grew at that. Playful. A carrot dangling at the end of a string. He knew she’d keep after. Maybe, she thought, that’s what he wanted.</p><p>It might’ve been what she wanted, too.</p><p>A lifetime later, Zelda stirs a pot of noodles. Link had set her on a simple task- one that was hardly necessary but enough to sate her insistence that she help cook their dinner. He’s practically a professional what with the way he flips steak and tends to three projects at once. Spices on his fingers. He licks them and she quickly turns her attention back to the noodles.</p><p>“You think you’ll be able to finish it in a week?” he questions, filling the silence. She thinks it’s unnecessary. The sound of cooking steak did well enough.</p><p>“...I’m sure the project will take more time. Trial and error, you see.”</p><p>He hums in response. “You’re going to do it from Kakariko?”</p><p>“I may travel to Robbie’s. I hear he has better living arrangements.”</p><p>Another hum. A little moody, this time. “The offer’s still there,” he repeats as always.</p><p>He collects obligations like he collects Korok seeds. It may be the only habit she’d be perfectly happy to see him break.</p><p>“Teba is expecting you,” Zelda deflects.</p><p>He throws something on the pan too fast for her to see. Fire bursts out from it, causing her to flinch away while he only squints against the heat.</p><p>“Teba can brood for another month.”</p><p>She stirs her noodles a little faster. “I refuse to keep you.”</p><p>A mirthful breath escapes him. “You said that to your father. Didn’t work real well, did it?”</p><p><i>“True,”</i> Zelda counters, “but my father is too busy enjoying the afterlife with my mother to enforce it this time.”</p><p>“True,” he echos; and a smirk flits across his face between plumes of steam. His eyes on her. Lofty again. Endearingly arrogant. “...You warmed up to the idea <i>eventually,</i> though.”</p><p>Her heart flips. Is he flirting? Of course not. She wants to slap herself. She’d watched him flirt with an old woman on the way to Purah’s. She’d seen him tease just about everyone- <i>including</i> Symin.</p><p>“...It’s not necessary,” Zelda manages a grumble.</p><p>“Not even for your experiments?”</p><p><i>Have mercy, will you?</i> she wants to complain. What is it with him and giving more than he wants to give to everyone around him? Sacrificial. He’d been sacrificial to the very end, once. <i>Stop it,</i> she wants to order him. <i>Stop acting like the world’s handmaid. It’s over.</i></p><p>Instead, she frowns and sighs, “Not this time, Link.”</p><p>“Slippery,” he croons. “Next time, for sure.”</p><p>It’s her hair that keeps him from seeing the way her eyes squeeze shut- the way her frown only deepens. He’ll keep after, she knows.</p><p>It’s not what she wants. It’s not what either of them wants, she’s certain.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Another night, another risky escape.</p><p>If he catches her again it’ll make things all the more precarious.</p><p>It’s a quiet place to study. That could be a working excuse- both to herself and any Argus-eyed man who may catch her. She knows her behavior is stranger than it’s ever been; it’s likely he’ll shrug and accept the excuse.</p><p>Quite frankly, she knows she’ll be caught eventually. But, the later, the better.</p><p>Her boots are by the door this time: the result of a lesson learned. A slip off her bed, a climb down the stairs, three glances to his sleeping form later, and she’s opening the door. Wind is there to disguise her exit again; yet the grind of that door’s hinges still sounds like a scream in the night. Terror is a vice around her lungs when it shuts after her. Not a breath going in or out.</p><p>Five heartbeats of silence. A gentler breeze grasps at her nightgown, sweeping that near- translucent skirt across her knees. Hair rising from her back- a pennant in the open air.</p><p><i>‘The coast is clear,’</i> the night seems to whisper. <i>‘Time to work.’</i></p><p>“Yes,” she replies, and curls her fingers around a lantern. </p><p>Zelda stops at the edge of the property’s pond. She watches the water ripple- her and her lantern reflected there in the darkness. Leaves dance across its surface: twisting, ribboning into the rumbling firmament. A storm will come in two days, she guesses. The weather’s plans are another secret her blood makes her privy to.</p><p>Lightning snaps in her memory. Kakariko. The storm that had rolled in that night was what broke her from the reverie of their victory. It was when all the malefic phantoms Link had helped her leave behind in Hyrule Field finally caught up to her in that village. Found her in her bed. Laid their hands on her to instill sickness rather than to heal.</p><p>Took her light. Her power gone that night: old insecurities smothering her, burying her in ash. History repeating itself and replaying itself over in her mind.</p><p>Link had opened the door to her room, drawn by the sound of her crying- his hair a mess alongside his expression.</p><p><i>‘What’s wrong?’</i> he’d asked as her arms reached out- grasping, seizing him by his shirt. A corpse out of its grave, limbs thrashing their way out of upturned earth. He didn’t resist when she’d dragged him down. Stones in his pockets. Into the deep he went. <i>‘What’s wrong?’</i></p><p>It was his touch that chased it all away.</p><p>
  <i>‘The offer still stands.’</i>
</p><p>He’d do it again if she asked. </p><p>Zelda fears this next storm will break her will. A will that should be of iron. A century she’d spent a Goddess: vicious enough to corner a beast and wrap it in chains.</p><p>How did it leave her? she muses. Was it all an illusion- that strength?</p><p>Green eyes flutter when they catch sight of a villager on the roads below. Thadd, patrolling in the night. He’s gawking up at her. The second her head swivels to indicate she’d spotted him, the young man blanches and flees.</p><p>Skittish for a guard, isn’t he?</p><p>...This certainly won’t help her reputation. Lurking like this.</p><p>Slouching, she whimpers with defeat and shuffles off to her makeshift study.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>The Slate’s with her as she descends the hill from Purah’s lab. She holds it against her chest as if she’s shielding it from the rain. There’s none, of course. None yet.</p><p>There’s something crisp in the air. The weather up there is better than usual: a warm front moving in. She checks the land below for a head of brown hair.</p><p>...There’s too many.</p><p>He’d wandered out several hours ago, claiming he was bored amidst a shouting match between Purah and Symin. Zelda gave him a pleading look- to stay or take her with him- but the scoundrel only winked and left before she could even scrunch her nose at him.</p><p><i>“Cheeky,”</i> she snips her newest adjective for his behavior. It fits well. Maybe she’ll tell him.</p><p>Zelda comes to a halt near the hill’s steep edge, swaying on her toes as she considers her course of action. To the house? To sneak in some studying? Or should she find him? Tilting her face to the sky, she gauges it’s not long after midday.</p><p>Clement weather. It’s the last they’ll see for the rest of the week, she suspects. Before the storm, that is. She’d best savor it while she can; and knowing of the coming rain or not, she’s sure he’d think the same.</p><p>Flipping the Slate between her fingers, Zelda brings it to her eyes and scans the expanse below. Where oh where could he be hiding?</p><p>The camera moves over children running down the streets. Men in the fields. An older woman crossing the bridge. Despite having a mere fraction of Kakariko’s residents, this particular town is somehow so much more lively: chatter always thrumming below. Laughter. The mooing of cows and bleats of goats.</p><p>It’s North that she spots him right by a large oak tree looming over the lake. Sitting in the shade.</p><p>He’s napping like a cat, it seems.</p><p>...Just a quick peek, Zelda affirms. Then she’ll leave him to it.</p><p>It smells like magnolias in that valley: the scent sweet and citrusy at once as it’s carried by those strong winds. They send water lapping at the shoreline, a steady rhythm against the cadence of birdsong.</p><p>Zelda can’t help but wonder if this is where he spirits himself away to every now and then. It wouldn’t be a surprise; it’s a marvel.</p><p>She treads up to him, careful not to scuff dirt or snap stray branches.</p><p>“Goodness, look at you...” she murmurs when she gets closer, holding back a giggle or two.</p><p>Link’s slouched ungracefully against the bark: arms crossed, head tilted back, and bits of foliage stuck in his hair. Out like a light.</p><p>Zelda is hardly thinking when she kneels and tosses stray leaves out of his hair. It’s rare, being this close to him without risk. She’s practically drunk on the sight: her eyes tracing scars that can’t be seen from a distance, the faint marks.</p><p>A couple she knows he received from that final battle. One’s deeper than the rest: a line from the curve of his jaw up along his cheek.</p><p>...Did it really happen? The last century? It doesn’t feel real. Not during the day, at least.</p><p>The Sword’s laying on the roots next to him, still a glimmer of violet- and it’s when her attention moves back to his face that she notices the barest hint of discoloration there just beneath his eyes. He looks tired. Stretched thin. Her brow furrows. That’s odd; he sleeps so well at night. Better than she ever could.</p><p>She breathes out through her nose before her fingers slip away from his hair, taking one last leaf with them.</p><p>That is, until a hand grabs her wrist and holds it in place.</p><p>Zelda squeaks.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he mumbles, eyes still closed.</p><p>
  <i>Trickster.</i>
</p><p>“Putting barbs in there, naturally.”</p><p><i>“What?”</i> His hand moves to his hair, alarm flashing across his face. <i>“Why?”</i></p><p>“Punishment for abandoning me,” she says, trying not to laugh as he paws away. Both hands now. Confusion growing by the second.</p><p>Exasperation takes over when he sees her failing to hide a smile.</p><p>“Funny.”</p><p>
  <i>“Very.”</i>
</p><p>Link regards her with a look she can’t quite identify. Something like suspicion.</p><p>“You’re in a good mood,” he comments.</p><p><i>Ah,</i> that’s it. </p><p>“...The weather’s nice.”</p><p>“Is that it?” a lazy question. Breathy. His head turns to the water. A raft is there- a fluttering sail made of tarp and patchwork.</p><p>Her eyes wander across broad shoulders. The length of his neck. The sharp contours of his jaw. Hair grazing along. Maybe her fingers could graze there, too. Maybe he’d let them. Drunk. She’s drunk. Her mouth is dry.</p><p>“What else could it be?” she forces. “Certainly not another visit with those two.”</p><p>Teeth show when he grins, his head rolling toward her again. “You love them.”</p><p><i>I love you,</i> she thinks. </p><p>“I do. I love everyone.”</p><p>“Equally?”</p><p>
  <i>No.</i>
</p><p>“Of course. I’m a benevolent Goddess.”</p><p>He barks a laugh. “Your head’s too big.”</p><p>“And yet you don’t make any effort to humble me,” a remark dripping with honey.</p><p>Blue’s on her, drowning out her common sense.</p><p>“...How exactly could I do that?” Husky. Teasing, provoking. It casts her heart further into her head. She’s not thinking right.</p><p>“I can think of a <i>few</i> ways...”</p><p>A spark goes off.</p><p>He blinks, going still as a statue. </p><p>The words had tumbled out of their own accord- all vulgar, dulcet syllables. </p><p>Zelda bites down her tongue and prays her face doesn’t look as flushed as it feels. His lips part. She thinks about where she'd like them. Her thoughts are still messy. Is it visible when she swallows? It must be with the way his eyes are drawn there. They rove along her neck, her collar, across her mouth- lingering as if he might find one of her suggestions written there. It’s a taut band she lets snap away as she blurts:</p><p>“Maybe by letting me cook, for starters.” She’s standing, backing away. Counting five paces. He keeps watching. Maybe he’s also counting. “I can do more than boil <i>noodles,</i> Link.”</p><p>A heavy sigh comes out of him, the exact source of his exhaustion unknowable. “Yes, Your Highness, I’ll teach you how to strain them next.”</p><p>“Boor.” </p><p>He only shakes his head, amused. Without a reply from him, silence is quick to fall. He stares at the water. She stares at his frown. Sunlight dances over him. Shadows dance over her.</p><p>“...Keep napping if you like. I’ll be at the house.”</p><p>Link nods, wordless. He won’t say a thing as she goes. Something’s cooking in his head.</p><p>He’s not in a good mood.</p><p>Zelda tells herself it’s the weather.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>The second night of the last week.</p><p>Zelda’s still a fast learner, that hasn’t changed.</p><p>
  <i>‘We are more than capable of rebuilding Hyrule, princess… please, take time to find your bearings again.’</i>
</p><p>Impa said she doesn’t need to rush. She does anyway.</p><p>Two months. Two months since the Beast was slain.</p><p>Two months of no monsters, no responsibilities, no slumbering hearts to keep watch over. </p><p>She can’t get used to the weight. The lack thereof.</p><p>It’s a strange thing to want back, isn’t it?</p><p>There’s parchment beneath her fingertips as she scribbles away: practicing her handwriting. Her name. Paya’s name. Impa’s. Purah’s. Link’s.</p><p>Didn’t she think Link should stop collecting obligations? Zelda knows she may be a hypocrite, but- perhaps- not quite. She just wants him to leave some for her, that’s all. Perhaps she’d let herself be greedy enough to stay if he didn’t see her as one, too.</p><p>“I don’t want us to be <i>stuck</i> together like before,” she quotes to the empty space. Bitter. Hair hanging over her face.</p><p>Words said from Link to Impa the fifteenth night in Kakariko. Neither had been aware of her presence on the balconies outside that house. Although faint through open windows, his voice had sounded just as bitter. </p><p><i>‘Why don’t you tell her this?’</i> Impa’s suggestion, the old woman sounding disturbed.</p><p>The frogs below croaked. Lily pads swirling. Dizzying. <i>‘...That’d be cruel, right now. Wouldn’t it?’</i></p><p>She was fragile, he’d implied. Too fragile to handle such a truth. He was right. Only fifteen days since the Beast was slain, after all. Only eleven since she’d dragged him into a bed with her.</p><p>Happy to be friends, he specified, but not happy to be partners. Rather <i>cruel</i> of Impa, then, to chain him to her the moment either of them tried to leave. What on Earth was that woman thinking?</p><p>Her writing grows faster. Harsher.</p><p>She can hardly blame him for his desire for freedom. She wants him to have it. Desperately. He doesn’t deserve to suffer through the company of a person who will hardly speak.</p><p>
  <i>‘Teba can brood for another month.’</i>
</p><p><i>What,</i> so he can watch her do it instead?</p><p>Paper tears and she flinches away. Zelda gapes at the torn journal, empty-eyed, the pen slipping from her fingers.</p><p>Her last few pages. Ruined.  </p><p>Lightning cracks through her and she’s flinging the object at the shed’s door with an animalistic growl. Her hand is still hovering when the book thuds and flaps against the floor. Her chest rises and falls. She’s astonished by her own behavior. Though- she’s less fixated on that sudden flare of anger than she is on the epiphany it left behind.</p><p>Wind rattles the shed as she brings her hands to her face. Zelda peers at her mangled prayer dress through parted fingers. It’d stood up to a century of neglect; but it seems it couldn’t stand up to four weeks of her own abuse. </p><p>Neither can her mind, can it?</p><p>This is why she’s so flustered. There’s too many hostile thoughts in her head. Too much noise blending with more noise. The edges bleeding together. She can’t compartmentalize any of it, can she? It’s a dam: one crack and the whole lake floods out. It’s pouring now and she can’t do anything to stop it.</p><p>How many spirits did she apologize to during those years?</p><p>What did it look like? To watch the capital burn for two weeks straight? It must have been spite that led that Beast to thrash against her grip and tear apart her home: ensuring there really wouldn’t be anything left for her by the time this all was finished.</p><p>What was the sound like? Unable to do anything but wait and listen? A castle filled with the coarse pulse of Guardians during the daylight. The nights an endless roaring in her ears. An immemorial Sluagh howling, thundering all while she called like a crow for a boy deaf to it all, longing for the day he might wake to it.</p><p>What did it feel like? Waiting one hundred years only to walk the dilapidated shell of her country and stand amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces all looking at her more like a curse than a savior? It’d only felt right, honestly.</p><p>The Goddess Proxy.</p><p>The Burgeoning Scholar Princess.</p><p>They’d called her the Heir to a Throne of Nothing back then, too.</p><p>No knowledge. No power. What was she now? Only one thing left.</p><p>Zelda leans over, her hair pooling onto old wood. Knives in her heart. The hurt splitting through her. She’s shaking. Her face growing hot. Eyes burning. She won’t cry. She didn’t cry in that final spring, did she? She was stoic in the face of failure. Silent upon the mountain. A page taken out of Link’s book.</p><p>She’ll take another.</p><p>Sucking in a deep breath, Zelda straightens her spine, smooths out her nightgown, and returns to bed.</p><p>It’s minutes later that she’s standing at the top of the stairs: her bed only a few feet in front of her. Hands are at her chest, wringing together as fingers press against skin sore from needle tips. </p><p>“Where…?”</p><p>She murmurs, troubled as she stares at the other bed down the way. </p><p>“....Where did he go?”</p><p>The house is dark, Link’s bed is empty, and Zelda hears the first patter of rainfall.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Chasm of Doubt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. AH! Finally this is finished. Now that I've gotten this out of my system I'll be diving back into Roots and finishing up that one's last two chapters.<br/>2. This was a fun experiment, albeit stressful. This is probably the most editing I've done ahaha<br/>3. Thanks for reading this far guys! Hope this latter half ties everything up properly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>‘I wonder then… would you have chosen a different path?’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘No.’</i>
</p><p>Quick as a wingbeat, that reply. Water ran down his cheek, down the sword in his hand. It still hadn’t let up, the rain. He’d stood in it anyway.</p><p><i>‘...Even though you weren’t meant for it?’</i> she’d probed, hoping her voice didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.</p><p>Link’s eyes fell to the dirt in a moment of deliberation. It wasn’t as long as she would have liked before they lifted again, his face blank as plaster. <i>‘Yes.’</i></p><p>
  <i>‘Why?’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘Because it’s expected of me.’</i>
</p><p>He’d waited for another question that never came. It wasn’t necessary; that flat, monotone answer of his told her everything that she needed to know: that there was no room for argument- that she was the weak one.</p><p>Without another word from the disillusioned girl in front of him, Link returned to swinging around his sword. It cut through the air a little more sharply than before. His movements stiffer.</p><p>Zelda leaned back against wet stone, gazing up at the tree canopy. Droplets peppered her face. The rain would reach her despite her best efforts to hide from it. Bitterness swelled. Eyes closed. Nails scraped along rock.</p><p>She’d resented the answer he’d given her on that hill. A century later, she still does, but for far different reasons.</p><p>Gravel shifts beneath her boots. Damp, yet to turn to mud in the light rain. The sun’s rising, but it can’t be seen beyond the greenish pall of an approaching storm. The sky toes that thin line between dark and dawn, her lantern only barely necessary as she slinks through a river of mist.</p><p>Her eyes move from one dark alley to the next, nervous. Pinpricks of terror in her mind tease at the threads of her rationality. She fears eyes she knows aren’t there. Zelda clings to her lantern with two hands: a Poe roaming in circles.</p><p>Where <i>is</i> he?</p><p>She’d waited an hour in that house, restless. Several times she’d rolled over and sat up: taking another look at his bed as if he might have suddenly warped back into it with the Slate. Needless to say, he never did. By the time she began to pace around the table, she’d decided it was best to just go looking.</p><p>Maybe she shouldn’t chase after him. Maybe he wants to be alone.</p><p>Still, she can’t help but worry- despite knowing everything that he is. Besides, what if he went out looking for her? It’s only right she let him know she’s fine.</p><p>Zelda pauses near the general store and looks behind her to the town gates. An emergency perhaps? More monsters in the forests?</p><p>No… there would have been warning bells. Thadd has a flare for the dramatic.</p><p>Her head swivels the opposite direction.</p><p>The... tree, perhaps? From earlier today?</p><p>Her best lead.</p><p>The grass is tall enough to brush her knees. Sharp, small cuts invisible to the naked eye. The hem of her dress is wet now, too, clinging to her legs. She can see it: the form of that massive oak in all the fog.</p><p>A sword cuts through the haze, the grass goes shorter, and she wonders if there might be a connection.</p><p>The blade twirls in his hands, the motion fast enough to mimic the sound of a Skywatcher’s propellers. He’s agile; his dexterity is even better than it was before. The result of all the monks’ training no doubt.</p><p>Zelda stands perhaps twenty feet away, observing. His back remains turned: either the rain was loud enough to disguise her footfalls or he’s absorbed too deeply in his thoughts to notice.</p><p>Metal sings. That sword is different from other blades- something melodic in its sounds. Clear as a bell.</p><p>Link pivots, boots tearing up dirt, and comes to an immediate halt upon seeing her. The weapon is still raised as he stares down the length of it, eyes glued to his ward and her lantern.</p><p>It lowers when the surprise drains from his features.</p><p>“...Good morning,” she’s the first to speak, her voice faint enough that she worries he failed to hear it.</p><p>The Sword’s sheathed with a greeting, “Well, there you are.”</p><p>Link cuts the distance between them in half before putting his hands on his hips. Her eyes take in more detail. The man’s soaked from head to toe- standing there in his own pajamas. Brown shirt, brown pants. Plain. A stark contrast to the divine weapon on his back.</p><p>“...Another walk?” he asks when she doesn’t reply to that.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Link’s eyes move down and stay there for long enough she’s convinced grass must be fascinating. The look on his face is blank but muddled. Something set to simmer. She speaks before the silence goes rotten:</p><p>“And you… well, did you get possessed by the urge to do some yardwork at five in the morning?”</p><p>Her hand presents to him the beds of fallen grass; and a sheepish grin makes its way through the muck of all his ruminating.</p><p>A shrug.</p><p>“Has it been that long?”</p><p>Zelda’s free hand goes to her hip with a light scoff. “And the townsfolk claim I’m the strange one.”</p><p>“Don’t give me too much credit,” he sasses, <i>“you’re</i> the one who ordered me to cut grass with a holy weapon first.”</p><p>Based upon his curious frown, her surprise must have been written on her face.</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>“Oh- nothing. I thought- I thought you didn’t remember that.”</p><p>“Why? I told you I remembered everything.”</p><p>Her head cocks, brow furrowing. “...You seemed confused when I didn’t scold you in Kakariko.”</p><p>Link’s mouth opens and closes. Eyes wander up, down, and to the side. “I wasn’t surprised by <i>that.”</i></p><p>“By what, then?” she presses. Her head cocks further: a stable dog waiting for a treat. </p><p>His focus remains trained on rolling fog. He doesn’t seem to be a fan of looking at her lately. The realization makes her squirm.</p><p>“Just that you laughed,” is the explanation he manages to put out, rubbing the back of his neck.</p><p>“...I <i>am</i> capable, yes,” there’s some sarcasm there. Suspicion, too.</p><p>He looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but thinks better of it. “It was the first time you did. After everything. That’s all.” That tone of his hints at finality.</p><p>“I see.” A stone settles in her gut.</p><p>Oddly, it’s fear that grips her.</p><p>Link works up courage to check her expression. Judging by the way he huffs, he didn’t like what he saw. “Let’s go back to the house.”</p><p>“...Oh, you’re ready to go back?” she questions as he saunters by. “You can stay if you like. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t after me.”</p><p>The man pauses and looks down at her. One pace away. More stones settle in her gut.</p><p>“You want to be alone?”</p><p>“Not at all.” She turns, raising her lantern higher between them. It lights up the water slithering down his neck into a low collar- and her breath catches. It’s promptly lowered. “But- I can’t imagine it was grass you were after, was it?”</p><p>Zelda hardly expects honesty from him, yet he delivers it anyway.</p><p>“...I woke up in a bad mood.” He glances up, looking sour. <i>“Clouds</i> didn’t help. Looked like the fields back then. During the siege.” </p><p><i>I still think about it,</i> he admits, his voice barely audible even from such a short distance.</p><p>The death, he means. His own and thousands of others’.</p><p>Her words are reflexive, true to her heart, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Link’s head is still tilted up when his eyes dart toward her, something spiking in him. Anger, maybe. She can’t find an accurate label to put on it- but whatever it is, she flinches away from it. That reaction of hers sobers him. He breaks eye contact again, a rueful frown there.</p><p>“I hate when you do that,” he tells her.</p><p>Fingers tighten around her light’s handle. It’s growing dimmer, running out of oil. “Do what?”</p><p>“Take blame for a monster.”</p><p>“Someone has to.”</p><p>“Whoever made it, sure.”</p><p>“You’d blame yourself if you failed to pull that sword in time… Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>A loud sigh tumbles out of him just like the afternoon before. “This’ll go in circles- blame or not you’ve done your time, Zelda.”</p><p>One hundred years of loneliness.</p><p>Was it penance enough?</p><p>“...Maybe so,” is the best answer she can give.</p><p>Link’s head swivels to her. “That’s-”</p><p>His mouth twists, smothering the words.</p><p>He’s looking at her like she’s a half-starved animal and she hates it. Zelda thinks it has to be impulse that suddenly drags his hand into the air, raised like that lantern, reaching, palm turning up only to stop cold before touching her. Agonizingly close. She’s staring at that gesture and trying to make sense of it as best she can, heart hammering away. She’s certain his touch would carry an electric shock. She wants him to do it anyway.</p><p>But, it falls, a snapping thread- and he clears his throat.</p><p>“-A start,” Link finishes before taking a deep breath. “Let’s go. The town’s about to wake up and I don’t want to try and explain why we’re trespassing in Reede’s field at five in the morning.”</p><p><i>They think we’re weird enough already,</i> he tacks on, waving his hands like he’s at his wit’s end. It garners a smile from her.</p><p>Zelda follows after when he begins to wade into tall grass. He swipes at it, grumbling- and she puts a hand over her spreading grin, giggling, “We can just tell them we were out looking for crickets, no? That’s perfectly understandable, I think.”</p><p>He looks over his shoulder: his face somewhere between mirth and incredulity before it falls into a muted alarm.</p><p>“Remind me <i>never</i> to let Manny talk to you.”</p><p> “Who?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” he insists.</p><p>Her lips purse; a new curiosity to sate. Link grimaces at the glint in her eye before whirling around and pointing.</p><p>“I <i>swear,</i> Zelda, don’t-”</p><p>She’s laughing, he’s pleading, and she thinks the day is off to a good start.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Dread’s tapping at the window. She won’t let it in despite its fervent requests.</p><p>“The rain’s stopped,” Link muses while gazing out that same window. Oh, to be like him: oblivious to what lurks on the other side. </p><p>Only for now, she knows as her fingers thumb through a book on Mycology. It’s an old book of Purah’s- one of suspiciously many she owns on the subject. Vague as her explanation was, the woman had let slip an implication that natural substances were a factor in reducing her to the height of Hylia’s scattered effigies. It’s an enticing trail of breadcrumbs to follow; but she’ll attend to it later.</p><p>Zelda is getting better at reading. The pictures help, too- merely gazing at those detailed diagrams serves as a stimulant for her memory. She fixates on one in particular: a Silent Shroom.</p><p>Yet another Sheikah favorite: good for nimble footwork. But, double edged in working as a potent sedative if brewed for a shorter period of time.</p><p>Exactly what she needs for the coming weather.</p><p>The book flips shut. Link’s attention shoots toward her from across the table. Absently, his hands keep at fixing the straps to his shield.</p><p>“I’m going to the forest.”</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“Plants. Mushrooms.”</p><p>“What are you making?” he inquires, watching her snatch up her hood.</p><p>“A few things. Elixirs... Roasted truffles sound appealing.” Vague, evasive. He seems none the wiser.</p><p>“There’s monsters,” Link points out knowing very well it is, in fact, pointless to do so.</p><p>She shrugs a basket into the crook of her elbow, cooing, “Don’t you fret. I won’t go far.”</p><p>The sound he makes is blatantly disapproving. Arms are crossed. A foot taps. He’s glancing at the Sword leaning by the door.</p><p>Zelda is unperturbed by his glowering. “It’s a quick errand and something to do as I take a break from reading.”</p><p><i>Too early for Purah’s, as well. Busy with the Slate,</i> she adds.</p><p>He looks to the window again, reluctant to leave yet just as reluctant to let her go alone. He leans back in his chair with a last ditch complaint, “It’s <i>muddy</i> outside.”</p><p>“Would you rather I find this mysterious Manny you spoke of?”</p><p>The chair’s scraping fast enough the thing almost falls over. “I’ll go with.”</p><p>Zelda can’t hide the baffled amusement on her face; but he answers no questions as he shuffles past and grabs his sword.</p><p>“I’m happy for your company, truly,” she teases, clasping her hands by her head and smiling brightly.</p><p>Blue’s on her, his jaw tenses, and Link sighs as if he’s at his wit’s end.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>The forest thrums with anticipation. </p><p>A tense calm always envelops the Earth before a tempest; and Zelda feels it hum beneath her own skin as surely as her own heartbeat. Link gravitates around her: dodging into bushes, poking his head here and there, or dipping beneath tangles of thorns. Despite his attention being so focused on sniffing out monsters, she often catches sight of him between the treeline- his neck craned back to gaze into an overcast sky.</p><p>So much time spent in the wild. She wonders if he feels more than he lets on, too.</p><p>Her fingers swipe at blue-capped mushrooms, burying them beneath the cloth of her basket as if they’re something shameful to hide. They join her collection of herbs, truffles, flowers, and anything else that strikes her fancy.</p><p>She knows he likes apples. She’s sure to pick extra.</p><p>At the end of all her foraging, she realizes she hasn’t seen him for quite some time. Zelda looks around her, spinning on her heels: checking for the flicker of purple and gold. Nothing. </p><p>“Link!” she calls, standing on her toes. </p><p>Still, nothing.</p><p>She wrings her hands together, feeling strangely vulnerable alone in that forest. Saturated in gray. Quiet as the Lost Woods. Hands cup around her mouth as she tries again, a little more urgent, “Li-”</p><p>
  <i>“Boo!”</i>
</p><p>Her scream is loud enough to startle birds. Zelda lurches forward, almost tripping over her feet as she scrambles to turn around. Link’s there between a shower of leaves and feathers with hands still raised, looking all too proud of himself. It warrants a smack on the arm. He doesn’t complain or even flinch when she slaps him: perfectly aware of the punishment he’d receive for his transgressions.</p><p>“You <i>little-”</i> she grinds away the end of that insult, channeling patience.</p><p>He blinks and puts a hand out, “You may finish.”</p><p>“Oh, <i>stuff</i> it,” she yaps. All he does is snort.</p><p>Standing straight, she presents her full basket to him. “I’m done.”</p><p>“Did you get apples?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>His face lights up and he puts his hand out again, expectant. Fingers wag. Zelda gives him a flat stare to which he curses and retracts his arm, only just now regretting his actions.</p><p>“Behave and you’ll get one,” she snips.</p><p>Link clicks his tongue as if that’s an impossibility. <i>“Please?”</i></p><p>“You expect me to reward bad behavior?”</p><p>“I’ll do whatever you want,” he bargains.</p><p>She wonders if he would.</p><p>Zelda throws away the thought. “An awful lot of trouble for an apple, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Doesn’t have to be. I bet we could work something out.” A shift in his tone. Suggestive. Something there that makes it harder to breathe. </p><p>“I’m- afraid nothing’s coming to mind.”</p><p><i>“Really?”</i> he drawls, blue drowning out her better senses as he stares down at her. She’s trying to breach the surface. His mouth pulls into a smirk when he leans forward, holding her under. “...I can think of a few ways.”</p><p>What is this? Her mind races, desperate as she fights for composure. Is this still about <i>apples?</i></p><p>Her heart is in her ears. A fever in her head. She’s about to scream for a second time- nearly drop her basket and claw at his shirt.</p><p>“Like- like what?” Zelda croaks.</p><p>Link snaps his fingers, breaking some kind of spell. </p><p>“I can teach you how to make soup!”</p><p>It fizzles out.</p><p>Her head’s blank. Zelda blinks, and, somehow, she’s gone and handed him an apple. He merely grins like a monkey before waltzing off with it: blissfully unaware of the damage he’d done.</p><p>Zelda throws a silent fit, pulling at her hair while trying to show all her titillated delusions to the door.</p><p>A few more days, she reminds herself. A few more days and she can flee.</p><p>She can only pray fifteen feet will still be enough by the end of this accursed week.</p><p>Zelda’s considering staying in that eerie forest alone until he calls a question, forcing her to trot after.</p><p>They stumble out of the woods without much direction: emerging from the South. Link wastes no time taking the path up again; but Zelda pauses at the edge of the hillside. She gazes below to a plot of land near Lake Jarrah. A trail the shape of a lasso. Ruins lay scattered as with everywhere else in Hyrule.</p><p>She’d recalled seeing a sign near there upon their arrival to Hateno- yet she hadn’t been able to pick out much more beyond the glyph for a horse.</p><p>“What are you looking at?” his voice is distant from his place up the hill.</p><p>Zelda turns her head, pointing below. “What is that place?”</p><p>“The archery range,” he happily supplies as he descends, staring out over the expanse. “Hasn’t been used in probably fifty years since Bokoblins moved in.”</p><p>She surveys the space again. Not a single red goblin in sight. They land back on him, and he picks out her wordless questions with ease.</p><p>Link grins, tapping at the sword on his back. “Bolson hired me. They want to rebuild it.” He mimes some kind of bow as he rambles on, “It’s where they used to train us country knights. Reede’s thinkin’ of expanding the town- adding a few new shops to the forest. So I told him they should keep it that way since they’ll need more guards than Thadd... Not to mention his aim could use a lot of work.”</p><p>Zelda adjusts her basket, her thoughts still lingering there.</p><p>“...You think I could learn?”</p><p>“Archery?”</p><p>A nod.</p><p>“What? There?”</p><p>Another nod. “...If the targets are still usable.”</p><p>“It’ll take longer than a few days.”</p><p>She hums, wistful. “It will… won’t it?” He’s too quiet. The land is utterly silent. Zelda sighs at what’s buried beneath it all. “I’m still going.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, moody. Knots are beneath her lungs yet again. Cold this time. The beginnings of anger. She watches, tensing, as he lifts the apple he’d won and bites into it. He bites out his next gripe just as harshly, <i>“You’re going.”</i></p><p>It comes flooding back.</p><p>
  <i>‘I don’t want us to be stuck together like before.’</i>
</p><p><i>‘I don’t want to be</i> stuck <i>with her like before,’</i> it sounded like.</p><p>Too helpless. Too fragile to handle it. A century left alone with a monster but too weak to be left alone in a house for a month? Absurd. Offensive. Pathetic.</p><p>He’s not looking at her. Apparently the trees are much more interesting. Like the grass. Like the wall. Like the raft. Like the fog. Like everything else.</p><p><i>“Why?”</i> the question slips out. Low and cross. A growl she didn’t think she was capable of.</p><p>Perplexity washes over him. “Why what?”</p><p>Distress washes over her. Her lips mash together, keeping back plaints fighting and thrashing to come out. It’s an internal battle she’s winning as she continues to walk past him.</p><p>“Zelda?”</p><p>No answer. Her eyes dart to the clouds above them. A wool blanket of green and gray. Four hours before more rain, they warn. She picks up the pace.</p><p><i>“Zelda,”</i> his voice is louder.</p><p>Her eyes burn. Gravel is shifting loudly. She can hear him following after; but her name isn’t repeated a third time.</p><p>Back to the house they go. Her head’s swimming. A mistake. A mistake. He’s going to press. He’ll keep after. She's sure. A crack in the dam. It’ll all pour out. She knows how he feels. She knows what he’s hiding. She knows but she doesn’t want to hear it again. It hurts. It’ll hurt. </p><p>This is all an overreaction. Where’d the strength go? <i>Where?</i></p><p><i>“Tell me where?”</i> she’s whispering to the heavens- to the Goddess she knows isn’t up there.</p><p>Wind sweeps over the hillside now. Through the trees. Branches groan: the beginning to the end of the calm. Crows call as coarse as sandpaper. Her defenses weathering away.</p><p>Past the gates. Past Thadd, his eyes following her. She has more than half a mind to fling her basket at him for simply looking at her. Up the road. Boots thudding across the bridge. A door opening, hinges screeching as always.</p><p>Her basket on the table, palms on either side of it. The house dark. Dim.</p><p>The door hasn’t closed behind her. Zelda turns her head, peering through windswept hair. Light pours in behind him: his silhouette standing there on the threshold of his own home like a vampire awaiting an invitation. The man who cut the Devil to pieces is scared to follow after a woman with a chip on her shoulder? How far they’ve both fallen.</p><p>“It’s your house,” she points out.</p><p>Permission to enter. He does even though it’s not hers to give. It’s only a few steps, of course. Can’t break the rule. Five feet. Always five feet. The door closes. </p><p>She wants to break something. An old habit’s under heavy consideration.</p><p>“Did I say something?” he mumbles.</p><p>He did, in fact. Weeks ago.</p><p>“No.” Her tone would beg to differ.</p><p>“What was it?”</p><p>She sucks in a breath. It’s a hiss like a snake. However, it helps to rein in control. Her mind’s calming, her heartbeat slowing.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” She means it. “I’m horrible company.” Link doesn’t have anything to say to that, it seems. So, she keeps on, “I already feel terrible imposing on you like this. Please, you shouldn’t feel obligated to fit your life to me.”</p><p>Silence persists. Something about it is heavier this time.</p><p>Zelda swallows.</p><p>“You’re not imposing on me,” his words are meek. Meeker than she’s heard in a century.</p><p>What’s <i>he</i> so scared of?</p><p>She rotates to face him completely, fingers sliding off the tabletop. Her hair slides over her shoulders, too. She doesn’t braid it anymore. Hasn’t for a month. Didn’t look right in the mirror.</p><p>“It’s fine to admit it,” Zelda plasters the best smile on her face that she can. “I assure you! You have a <i>life,</i> Link. We don’t have to listen to everything Impa says- it’s ridiculous that she insists you have to keep watch over me. I’m rather tired of being a ball and chain myself.”</p><p>“I could’ve said no to Impa,” he defends, his brow furrowing. She tries to think of an emotion to label that expression as. Offense fits the best of any- albeit not quite. Not completely.</p><p><i>‘I don’t want to be</i> stuck <i>with her like before'</i></p><p>Again. Again she hears it. Warped. That confession twisting in her mind. Not what he said but exactly what he said at the same time.</p><p>It splinters. A glass heart fracturing.</p><p>“Yes, you could have! <i>That’s</i> the point!”</p><p>His mouth opens, arms moving in a baffled manner. “Can you explain?”</p><p>“Can <i>you?”</i> she retorts, sweeping an arm out. A distraction from her pitching voice. She’s trying to hide hurt behind anger- a skill she learned well and hasn’t forgotten. “I don’t want us to be <i>stuck</i> together like before?”</p><p>The boy from a century ago is back: as readable as a bleached flag even with his own words thrown back at him.</p><p>“...That’s not-” it’s cut off, whatever he’s saying. Zelda isn’t sure by what. Pigs will fly before she ever is.</p><p>“What else could it be?” she breathes. </p><p>Something else. </p><p><i>Please,</i> she thinks, <i>let it be anything else.</i></p><p>She’s waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting. All he does is stand there dumbly. Is he even <i>thinking?</i> He takes too long. That can’t be good. Terror grips her and Zelda shouts something foul to protect herself:</p><p>“It doesn’t matter! I don’t care- just <i>quit</i> acting like my <i>handmaid!”</i></p><p><i>Leave it alone!</i> she commands.</p><p>His features contort with a look she’s never seen on his face before. It comes and goes so fast she has no hope of identifying it. Expressive as he’s become, he’s still a mystery.</p><p>“You’re <i>right,”</i> Link throws out something foul to match, “I don’t want this.”</p><p>With those words, the door slams shut behind him. Wood chips off, the pieces cast onto the floor.</p><p>A habit finally broken.</p><p>Zelda can only stand in the dark, marveling at her work.</p><p>It’s spilled out. Nothing left behind the dam now.</p><p>Dread taps at the window.</p><p>Rain’s on its way to fill it back up.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Gears swivel in front of her, clicking and clacking. There is muscle memory that remains as she takes the cogs apart one by one. It’s a relief; she’s forgotten the cartharticisim that comes with watching pieces come together so perfectly.</p><p>“Where’s Link?” </p><p>Purah’s monitoring the door like he might kick it open any second.</p><p>“...I don’t know,” Zelda gives an honest answer.</p><p>“Hmm.” Purah makes a noise she doesn’t like. Contemplative. “Did you two fight?”</p><p>The Sheikah isn’t one for dancing around subjects. Zelda suspects there’s no bushes around her lab for a reason.</p><p>“I told him to stop putting everything on hold for me,” she’s floating in circles, pacing as she works. Her feet dart over stray books and papers without much concentration. She has better balance than she had two months ago. Getting there. She’s getting there. “He’s stuck in the past.”</p><p>Short as she is, Purah has more difficulty hopping over her own mess as she patters over to the bookshelves.</p><p>“You told him to stop helping you?” her voice is strained as she hops to grab a book. <i>Symin, Symin,</i> she urges, waving him over and pointing.</p><p>Zelda stops pacing. “I did.”</p><p>“What, and he left?”</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p><i>“Huuhh,”</i> Purah makes a new sound she likes even less. It’s the same noise she makes at broken cogs. Machines that won’t comply. Something like a squeak escapes her when Symin hands her a textbook half her size.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>She waddles past, labored, “Guy’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.”</p><p>“He was,” Zelda agrees. “I’ve relieved him of it.”</p><p>The book thuds to the ground. Purah flicks at her glasses, Zelda’s reflection a flash of light. “...Did you read the rest of that book?”</p><p>The change of subject is so jarring that her response is without thought- betraying the lie she wants to maintain, “No.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” her fellow girl-woman wags a finger at her, “otherwise you’d remember there’s a firewall between shrines and this Slate here,” she waves the thing at her with both hands. “It’s a filter. Keeps both end users from seein’ too much of each other. Knowin’ exactly where each other’s at.”</p><p>“...What are you saying?”</p><p>Purah heaves open the text. Pages flutter. “You hit a wall, princess.”</p><p>“I’m not following.”</p><p>“You got filtered <i>info,”</i> she chides, impatient. “In other words, sounds like you got close, but do you really think if what you did was a relief he’d run away like that?”</p><p><i>Doesn’t add up,</i> Purah warns. <i>Sounds like the opposite.</i></p><p>The device in Zelda’s palms clacks loudly. She glances down to it. The thing’s caught on itself. Stalling.</p><p>The pieces don’t fit together like she’d thought.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>The town’s worried.</p><p>Residents flit here and there taking down laundry, boarding up windows, gathering supplies: getting ready for a night or two in. They’ve finally caught on to the weather’s plans, it seems.</p><p>She avoids the middle of the roads, staying out of the way as she treks through a town still so unfamiliar to her. A woman eyes her from a doorway as she beats out a rug: a rhythmic rap that makes her flinch. An old man’s gaze follows her as she passes by the inn. The women by the well, their voices growing hushed when they see her.</p><p>Perhaps they’re all hoping the storm will take her with it upon its departure.</p><p>Zelda pulls her hood further down her head.</p><p>
  <i>‘You got filtered info.’</i>
</p><p>Her brow knits together. </p><p>Purah says she got something wrong. A door slams in her memory, and Zelda’s eyes burn at the words he left behind. She wipes at them, stubborn.</p><p>“You’re right,” she quotes miserably, “I don’t want this.”</p><p>There’s plenty of things she realizes she could be getting wrong. But- what’s there to misinterpret in <i>that?</i></p><p>It hurt as much as she expected it to, but more than it should. He doesn’t hate her, she knows. He loves her, she knows. She<i> knows.</i> But not the way she wants. </p><p>Needles in her chest. She holds a hand to her shirt, squeezing at a heart that’s already bruised and battered from her own abuse.</p><p>
  <i>‘Because it’s expected of me.’</i>
</p><p>It was for the best, Zelda affirms as she crosses the property’s bridge.</p><p>She won’t let anyone tell him who to be anymore. She won’t let him fit his life to her whims. An old habit she’ll help him break. It’s the least she can do after all the hardship and adversity and loss her failure caused, isn’t it?</p><p>
  <i>‘You’ve done your time, Zelda.’</i>
</p><p>“Not yet. Not for you,” she whispers.</p><p>She made her peace with loneliness once, standing at the threshold of that sanctum and staring down the Devil on the other side. She’ll do it again, standing here on the threshold of this house. However, there’s no Devil waiting for her on the other side this time.</p><p>Somehow, that makes it all the more difficult.</p><p>It’s the scent of herbs that wafts past when she opens that door. Link has food in his mouth when he takes notices of her arrival. They freeze, blinking at each other. Something is sizzling on one of the pans as her hood slips off.</p><p>He waves. She waves in response- the motion rather pitiful.</p><p>Link points to a pot of soup, Zelda nods, and the door closes behind her.</p><p>“Thank you,” she blurts at him twenty minutes later. “...For teaching me.”</p><p>He hums in acknowledgement, chin in hand.</p><p>“I-” she stammers upon gaining his scrutiny. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm... Earlier.”</p><p>His free hand waves it off. “It’s fine.” It moves to mess his own hair, the man appearing to be more frustrated with himself than her. “You were right. I wasn’t being honest.”</p><p><i>I’m sorry,</i> is the apology he echos.</p><p>Her heart sinks. She’d rather be wrong, really.</p><p>Awkwardly, he sits up straighter- pouting at the woodwork between them. “I don’t dislike you… I want you to know that. I just-” he hesitates, glaring now. “I wanted to be helpful.”</p><p>“I know… I appreciate the thought.”</p><p>A hush descends. Rather than fill it, Zelda examines the window: it’s a swath of black reflecting the house back at her. The sun is long gone.</p><p>“One hour,” she mouths to herself, hands fidgeting out of sight. They’re flat on the table when she stands and opens the lid of her basket.</p><p>He’s clearly intrigued as he watches her rustle around in the thing and toss out mushrooms onto the table. It’s replaced with distrust when he realizes what they are.</p><p>“...Are you planning to rob the general store?” he interrogates. Zelda sends him a pointed but good-natured look; he sounds exactly like Impa when she caught wind of them sharing a bed for one night. He’s squinting like her, too. As dubious as that old woman’s gawking.</p><p>“Are my footsteps loud enough that you think I’d need these during a <i>thunderstorm?”</i></p><p>“No,” he grins, mischievous as he lends forward onto his elbows. “Shame they can’t help your snoring, though.”</p><p>Her face grows hot. She tosses a mushroom at him; but he doesn’t so much as twitch when it bounces off his head- that mocking look plastered stubbornly to his face.</p><p>“Don’t worry, it’s cute.”</p><p>Her nose scrunches at him. For the sake of her sanity, she elects to ignore that last comment. “I think you’ll be happy to know they can.”</p><p>One would think it’s a slip of a tongue; but Zelda doubts she can keep her plans a secret. He’s as curious as a cat. Nosy when he’s bored- a trait she hardly minds most days if she’s being honest. She’ll savor whatever attention she can get.</p><p>Link picks up the mushroom she threw at him and speaks to it like it’s the thing that will answer his next query, “How’s that?”</p><p>Three of them are gathered up into her arms.</p><p>“If done correctly, they can act as a sedative rather than a stimulant,” she provides.</p><p>Odd, she thinks whilst she rounds the table, that his smile falls in an instant.</p><p>“...For the storm?” his voice behind her. Dead.</p><p>They’re tossed into a skillet. “Yes,” she says, her reply nearly drowned out by the flame she casts with flint, “for the storm.”</p><p>In the reflection of a hanging pan, Zelda sees him drop the cap.</p><p>“That’s a good idea.”</p><p>His tone would beg to differ.</p><p>Something’s cooking in his head, another tapping at the window, and Zelda might be at her wit’s end.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Link’s arms are crossed as he leans against the railing of the upper floor. Sitting upon her own bed, Zelda takes note that the window seems to be the object of their affections that day. It should be flattered, really.</p><p>There’s a journal on her nightstand. It’s a reminder that she won’t be able to study tonight; and somehow, that’s just as daunting as the heavy thrum of rain over their heads. She’s made quite a habit of it- though she has yet to decide if it’s a good or bad one.</p><p>Zelda’s eyes lower from the roof to the man before her. Motionless. A sentinel standing watch. For what, she hasn’t a clue.</p><p>“...Are you alright, Link?” she broaches, meek.</p><p>Better to focus on his anxieties than her own. Maybe his she could do something about?</p><p>Legs kick, toes brush the floor, and fingers fiddle with the lace holding the front of her nightgown together. Blue darts toward her. His eyes flick to her hands before they’re torn away just as quickly.</p><p>
  <i>“Mmhm.”</i>
</p><p>A descriptive answer.</p><p>“Are you going to sleep?”</p><p>“Eventually.” Dismissive. </p><p>Her lips purse.</p><p>Right. Well, she certainly tried.</p><p>Weight. Tensity. Is this how they’ll part ways? The thought scrapes her hollow. This feels like a stalemate. She’s had a lifetime’s worth of it already.</p><p>Zelda’s mouth opens to spout something stupid, she’s positive, but her eyes grow heavy. Hands move to her head, probing at the density there. Of course, she’s still alert enough to see the way he raises an eyebrow and smirks at her drunken swaying.</p><p>“Good night, Your Highness,” he croons between all his tittering- shooing her like he’s sending a toddler off to bed.</p><p>“Cheeky,” she mumbles, turning around and crawling to the middle of her bed.</p><p><i>“Cheeky?”</i> </p><p>He doesn’t get an answer before Zelda draws the covers over her head and curls into a ball.</p><p>It’s on stone, not cotton, that her hair is splayed across- knees at her chest and hands limp by her head. The cocoon above her throbs. Malice swirling all around her. It doesn’t reach her, though. It can’t. Not with the light flickering between her palms. She nurtures it, meditating on its warmth.</p><p>It’s rare, moments like these when the Beast is docile. It’s not as much of a reprieve as one would expect; it’s gathering energy for the next Blood Moon- resting until its next attempt at breaking from its prison and rampaging across the castle grounds. Try as it may, it never gets past the moat, and she never gets past that protective cocoon of its.</p><p>How many years has it been? She lost count of the days mere weeks after it all began.</p><p>Zelda can’t dream yet she does anyway as she lifts herself off the ground with one elbow. She peers past her feet and out at a flame-licked horizon. Walls in the distance: the Plateau. Thousands of deaths and she waits without end for only one to be undone. Her heart aches. A moment of weakness.</p><p>She lays back down onto the grass. It’s wet. Mud caked along her limbs. Link’s hands are on her, pulling her to her feet. Screams howl across the fields. Mabe’s gone: the walls reduced to a shower of hailstones.</p><p>The peal of tens of lasers flashes by before the mantle shakes violently. Raining starlight. Smoke like wetland fog. Spiders in the plumes. Over the debris. Over the dead. Burned. Trampled to mulch. </p><p>Terror suffocates her as they race by those flaking corpses.</p><p>One’s hand grabs at her leg. Zelda trips, gravity pulling her through the faultlines, and suddenly she’s gasping against stone. She throws a palm against the floor. Gold pulses: a Beast rears away, malice retreats, and the cocoon closes.</p><p>On her hands and knees. She almost failed; the Beast almost wrested control away from her.</p><p>
  <i>‘Don’t let it get in your head.’ </i>
</p><p>Another girl kneels before her and they stare into each other’s eyes. Blue, blue, blue, bluer than Link’s. The sky captured in such a small space. Their hair pooling together, liquid gold. White grazing their ankles.</p><p><i>‘How many times have we done this?’</i> Zelda whispers to her perfect reflection. </p><p>Sleeping. Waiting. Locked in a stalemate.</p><p>
  <i>‘Enough.’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘For what?’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘For muscle memory.’</i>
</p><p>Natural as breathing. </p><p>
  <i>‘Too many thoughts will make you too weak too fast.’</i>
</p><p>Let it all slip away. Enlightenment’s found in an empty mind not between the lines of ink.</p><p>
  <i>‘It’s a clean slate.’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘I don’t want to lose it. One or the other let me keep it.’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘You’re worth something even without it all. He wouldn’t have died for you if you weren’t.’</i>
</p><p><i>‘Am I?’</i> she asks. <i>‘Even if I have nothing to give?’</i></p><p>
  <i>‘You have something to give.’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘What could it be?’</i>
</p><p>
  <i>‘A heart.’</i>
</p><p>Blinding red flashes, the cocoon splits, and half of her returns to her body.</p><p>The bed lurches when Zelda flies awake: sheets floating and cascading off the mattress as she sits there struggling for air like a fish out of water. The sedatives didn’t last.</p><p>Lightning cracks somewhere dangerously close: the sound deafening. The house shakes. Wind screams. She hears something split apart. Her mind goes to rotting wood. It’s strong enough to rip that old shed to pieces, isn’t it?</p><p>“My things!” </p><p>Panic seizes her common sense. For once, she isn’t trying to disguise her exit when she clambers down the stairs. Link’s by the wall mounts, concerned, yelling something as she’s flinging the door open and letting the night swallow her whole. </p><p>She can barely stay on her feet as she scrambles around the house. The door to the shed is gone in the torrential winds. Wood is still breaking off when she dives toward it, gathering what little is left in her arms. Her dress, her journal, her bits of slate. Splinters cut across her cheeks. Cuts on her palms. An arm wraps around her waist, yanking her back. Zelda’s protests can’t be heard over the lightning streaking overhead.</p><p>The sound of a slamming door brings the rest of her back to her body, locking out and silencing the ghosts which had lured her into the night. She stands there, half drenched with a bundle of ruined books and a mangled prayer dress in her grasp. It all drips water. Hair clings to her face. She’s trembling down to her bare feet.</p><p>Link is still facing the door while his hand holds it shut. There are ragged breaths from the both of them. Rain is splattered over the hardwood- a trail leading from him to her. </p><p>It’s a beat of anticipation before he suddenly turns on his heel with a flabbergasted demand, “Zelda, what the <i>Hell was that?!”</i></p><p>Is he angry? Afraid? Disturbed? The only light is from the fireplace: the shadows in that house flitting and tossing like leaves in the open air. It makes it more difficult to read him than it already is in all her lunacy.</p><p>“I-” the words won’t come together. “I… had- I needed to save it.”</p><p>“Save <i>what?”</i> He gestures with both hands to the seemingly worthless collection in her arms- the pitiful remains of her identity. <i>“That?!”</i></p><p>“...Yes,” she utters. Her toes curl against the floor. “They woke me up- my dreams. I did what she said back then- I couldn’t- I wasn’t-” she chokes on her own breath. “I’m not thinking right. I’m so- <i>so sorry.”</i></p><p>Her voice cracks along with her composure, and Link’s anger evaporates. His shadowed features are gone from her vision when she buries her head into the dress with a sob. Her legs feel weak. She goes to her knees. </p><p>Zelda practically screams her frustrations into that fabric. She wants to hide from him. Shame burns at her core.</p><p>A hand’s on her shoulder, trailing down her arm. He’s not speaking; it’s understandable- she’s sure she wouldn’t know what to say if she were in his place. Fingers in her hair, tentative. Her hand reaches up, curling along his to keep it there.</p><p>When her face lifts again, she’s calmer. The dam emptied itself a second time.</p><p>“...I’m sorry I scared you,” Zelda apologizes to his troubled stare.</p><p>His head shakes. His hand is still in hers. A thumb brushes the back of her hand and it nearly cuts her in two. “Your nightmares did that?”</p><p>“I… suppose they did.”</p><p>She thinks she did it to herself, actually.</p><p>He’s burning holes in the rags tucked against her chest. Link tries to suggest the only thing he knows can help, “You know I can still-”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” she interrupts.</p><p>“The storm’s going to last the whole night.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You’ll have nightmares again.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You’ve been up since yesterday morning.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Link’s hands move like he wants to tear his hair out. <i>“Great,”</i> he drawls, sarcasm in every vowel, “glad you know- now can you point me to where the <i>logic</i> in this is?”</p><p>Much to his chagrin, she has the bare bones of an argument for that, “We’re only here for four more days, Link. I can’t risk making a habit of relying on you for this.”</p><p>“A <i>habit?”</i> he echos. </p><p>
  <i>“Yes.”</i>
</p><p>“One night is going to make a habit?” the dubiety there is on the edge of mocking. </p><p>Zelda’s chokehold on her dress tightens until water seeps from the garment. He’s right. It won’t. It <i>shouldn’t</i>- but he hardly knows the effect he has on her.</p><p>There <i>is</i> no logic in this. It makes her bristle. </p><p>“I won’t force you to do that a second time!” He shoots to his feet, growling something. Zelda stumbles to her own, unrelenting in her protests, “You said I was right! You said you didn’t <i>want</i> this!”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant- it- it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“It does!”</p><p>“I promise,” he sounds pleading. Desperate. “It’s <i>fine!”</i></p><p>Hair thrashes over her back when she shakes her head. It’s rapid. Frantic. Frayed thread pulled too taut. Her voice reverberates off the walls:</p><p>“You know I can’t believe that!” His eyes go skyward- clearly praying for something. Her feet splash on water as she turns, watching him pace off. “Not after everything you admitted!”</p><p>Where’s her head? Where’s her sense? She’s still not thinking right. </p><p>Neither is he when he throws his arms out and betrays a lie he wanted to maintain: <i>“Zelda!</i> This is the only way <i>either</i> of-”</p><p>A hand flies over his mouth, stifling the end of that sentence. </p><p>Zelda blinks, taken aback. His hand drops somewhat but stays hovering in the air. He’s motionless: staring at her like he’s readying himself for disaster. Why? It’s too dark to see what’s behind it. She takes a step forward. Link steps back.</p><p>Is he shrinking <i>away</i> from her?</p><p>Something clicks into place, and she’s thinking clearly for the first time in weeks. Fear looks to well up inside him. It only grows when she stalks closer- the girl from a century ago: probing, studying.</p><p>What’s he so <i>scared</i> of?</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that,” he begs.</p><p>Green eyes flick from head to toe, lingering on his face for half a second too long.</p><p>He looks tired. Stretched thin.</p><p>Too many nights without sleep have left an imprint on his face.</p><p>One puzzle is put together. Her shoulders drop.</p><p>“...Link-” she begins, not knowing where to begin. </p><p>A curse comes out of him as he turns away. He casts a longing glance at the door as if he’s considering running out into that violent weather himself. Or, perhaps, finding a cliff to leap off of.</p><p>“Have you- also…?”</p><p>He refutes that despite the mountain of evidence piling against him. “No.”</p><p>Indignation flares.</p><p>Link winces when Zelda unceremoniously lifts and throws all her things onto the floor. The papers are so wet they don’t even scatter- that dress of hers a wet rag slapping against hardwood.</p><p>Arms dangle, her stare practically threatening.</p><p>“I am going to ask you a question,” she says slowly. “And I would like you to answer it honestly, <i>yes?”</i></p><p><i>Enough with the lies,</i> she insists,<i> from</i> both <i>of us.</i></p><p>His back is to the door, nearly pressed against it. Five feet. His eyes are trained on the space between them; and it’s clear he’s lamenting there isn't more. Funny, considering he was just fighting to eliminate it.</p><p>How many times has he tried and failed to break this habit? It’s a question that sticks in her head.</p><p>Zelda chases after him, cornering him by that door. He’s swallowing. She sees shame there and she hates it.</p><p>“Did it help you, too?”</p><p>It’s visible when the fight leaves him. His hands uncurl from fists, shoulders sagging. </p><p><i>“...Yes,”</i> a fraught admittance she sees more than she hears.</p><p>How did she not see it before? she wonders. His hair is barely together- hasn’t been for days. Exhaustion running bone deep. Two months spent fighting her own nightmares. How long has his battle been?</p><p>Oh, she’s <i>stupid,</i> isn’t she?</p><p>“Take your boots off,” Zelda instructs, gentle yet lazy as she meanders off to the stairs. “I’m going to change into something dry.”</p><p>“You don’t have-”</p><p>The steps creak when she comes to a halt, delivering a flat command, “Link, for all that is holy, do <i>not</i> make this go in any more circles.”</p><p>The man practically whimpers with defeat.</p><p>The worries and anxieties are still there- the mixed emotions as she marches up those stairs; but trying to escape them is far from a priority anymore. Knowing it’s something to help him, Zelda suspects she wouldn’t be able to find a shred of hesitation if she tried.</p><p>Her bed’s curtain is swiped away minutes later. She pats at a fresh nightgown, marveling at the direction their evening has taken. One twist after the next. What’s left? For the house to sprout legs and do a jig?</p><p>Link’s across the way on his own bed: elbows on his knees. He’s gazing lovingly at the window, of course, still hardly a fan of looking at her. It’s one of too many mysteries for her to unravel.</p><p>Channeling strength, Zelda takes the first step. One, she counts. A floorboard groans. Two, four, seven, twelve- fifteen meager feet before her shadow’s looming over him. The window at her right, rain pelting against glass in her ear.</p><p>She’s wearing a pained smile when she stands at the edge of that bed. </p><p>“...Please, for my sake, don’t look so ashamed. It makes me think I really am pathetic compared to you.”</p><p>He handled it better than she ever did.</p><p>“It’s different for you,” Link amends. “I’m-”</p><p>The words die. So, she proposes a few of her own, “-supposed to be the courageous one?”</p><p>Blue’s finally on her. “I guess so.”</p><p>She points to herself, unimpressed. “And <i>I’m</i> supposed to be the wise one. I’m sure you can see how that fails to check out.”</p><p>His mouth pulls into the beginnings of a smile. A mirthful breath. That satisfies her, and so she swats at him to make room before collapsing face first onto the bed. Covers shift, Zelda rolls onto her side, and soon enough they’re both facing each other. Her breath catches. The candlelight over her shoulder just barely lights up half his face. A smear of orange.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.</p><p>“I’m losing count,” Link gibes, his hollow tone betraying his dismal mood.</p><p>Her brow wrinkles. “...I failed to notice. I was lost in my head.”</p><p>“Are you supposed to be able to read my mind?” He’d probably wave his hand if it weren’t under a pillow.</p><p>“I tried to. It ended poorly, didn’t it?” He says nothing, so she tries another question, “Shame or not, you know you could have asked me, yes? I would've been happy to help.”</p><p>Eyes are closed. “And guilt you into something you might not've been comfortable with? You’d make it too easy.”</p><p>A smile quirks onto her face at that; she’s sure he can hear it when she speaks, “Do you remember what I told you when we snuck off to the Research Labs?”</p><p>The day when she got him to spill everything: the first time she saw that equable mask of his snap off.</p><p>“What you said when you lured me out with <i>food?”</i> he replies. If there’s anything he should be ashamed of, it’s how easily she managed that, really.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>A nod. His eyes open, just barely. A sliver of blue. She wants to reach out and move hair out of his face. To see him better. “We’re good-intentioned to a fault,” he quotes.</p><p>“...We brewed a storm in a teacup, didn’t we?” Zelda muses.</p><p>That coaxes something livelier out of him: a weary grin to match hers. It fades quickly, though. Lashes against his cheeks when he blinks, staring at the white of her sleeves. </p><p>“What were you doing? Whenever you went out.”</p><p>“You were awake each time, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Most.”</p><p>“You never followed?” A head shake. Her hands wring together; he makes a face at that.  “...Did you believe what I told you the other day?”</p><p>That it was a walk- a temporary retreat from her own mind rather than the complete opposite?</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Yes, what else could it have been? He had no way of knowing she’d taken that dilapidated shed of his and turned it into some cobweb infested, makeshift sanctuary for all her doubts and insecurities. There was something calming about it: having a real space which she could store it all in. A door which she could lock it all behind and leave it to fester. Maybe it all fell apart because she tried to cram too much in there at once. It seeped through the cracks until the whole thing caved in.</p><p>Some kind of manic giggle escapes her when she finally confesses:</p><p>“I can’t <i>read.</i> Would you believe it?”</p><p>Link frowns, doubting what he just heard. It doesn’t add up to what he’s seen, does it? They’re pieces that don’t fit.</p><p>“You can’t... <i>read?”</i> he repeats, slowly. </p><p>“Everything,” Zelda draws circles along the gap between them with her finger. “Everything’s gone- every last <i>bit</i> of the knowledge I amassed... I couldn’t even make you a nasty elixir if you <i>asked.”</i></p><p>Can’t sew, can’t write, can’t cook, can’t tell a wrench from a screw. She lists them all off to him like she’s counting ducks in a pond. Her legs kick under the sheets and she’s laughing like it all hadn’t been terrorizing her for weeks on end.</p><p>“None of us would have minded,” is the groundbreaking revelation he delivers.</p><p>“I mind,” she murmurs. “What’s the point in me otherwise?”</p><p>She thinks he’s going to scold her for that; he merely sighs long and spiritless.</p><p>“I understand,” his demeanor flips when he laughs almost as manically as she did. “There’s not much point to me, either.”</p><p>He slayed the Beast, but in doing so he cut down his own identity, didn’t he? Hylia’s Champion: meant for one thing and one thing only. He might want it back. It might feel as strange to him as it does her.</p><p>Zelda’s legs brush up against his, limbs crossing. Neither moves away.</p><p>“Oh, I have a feeling the town would disagree. They <i>adore</i> you,” she coos.</p><p>So does she. She almost deigns to tell him that.</p><p>Link scoffs. “I’m good at making myself useful, that’s all.”</p><p>“For everyone, yes...” Dejection takes hold of her. She mourns an intangible distance she knows will never be closed. “You’ve done your time, as well, you know. Especially for me… You don’t have to keep offering me a house or another month of your life.”</p><p>His own words were a relief for her. She meant for them to provide him some solace as well. It doesn’t look like it- not with the way he scowls at the candlelight past her head.</p><p>“I just didn’t want it to be like before,” he says, hoarse and hurt- so quiet she can’t tell who those words were meant for.</p><p>“What do you mean by that?”</p><p>Unresponsive.</p><p>“Link,” she’s reaching, imploring, “Will you look at me?”</p><p>He does and lightning strikes.</p><p>Thunder claps. Pitched. A tremor in her bones- and Zelda’s ears are ringing as she flinches toward him with a gasp. The picture frames are still rattling away when her eyes snap open. That fright hasn’t left her; it only grows as she takes in her new position.</p><p>It’s a waking nightmare skirting on the edge of a fantasy. They’re pressed flush against each other. She’s half on top of him, breathing heavy.</p><p>It’s disorienting: how many times her thoughts have scattered that day. His hand against the back of her head does nothing to hold them together. Neither does the one fisted in the fabric at her waist.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she eventually croaks. Her breath fans across his neck and he tenses.</p><p>She should move.</p><p>She’s going to move.</p><p>She doesn’t.</p><p>He’ll move if she won’t.</p><p>He’s going to move.</p><p>He hasn’t.</p><p>Link’s heartbeat not even an inch away. Faster than it should be, isn’t it? It stokes all her titillated delusions until they hardly feel like delusions anymore.</p><p>Zelda shifts to find his eyes in all the mess. His expression is just as messy: a man a hair’s breadth from mad. Green’s on him and he’s not breathing and she wonders if she’s holding him under.</p><p>A question she already asked is there again even though she’s not sure how or why it’s pertinent to their current circumstance:</p><p>“What did you mean by that?”</p><p>
  <i>What do you mean, not like before?</i>
</p><p>If it were any other night, she’s certain he would keep his peace. Always had. More than a habit- a way of life: a study in the art of self-defense in the form of self-restraint. Safety and security found in familiarity a century in the making. </p><p>And yet, he makes it sound as if he doesn’t find comfort in those old habits nearly as much as she’d thought.</p><p>He inhales, shaky. Nervous. Where is the man who cut the Devil to pieces?</p><p>“I wanted it to be a choice if we stayed,” Link forces. “For once- I wanted it to be what both of us wanted.”</p><p><i>That’s all,</i> he’s repeating. <i>That’s all.</i></p><p>Drunk and foolish, her hand is lifting before she can weigh the risks. Fingers graze along his jaw. He lets them.</p><p><i>Is the offer still there?</i> </p><p>His grip on her waist tightens, pulling at her dress. She imagines he might be thinking about tearing it off. She’d let him. </p><p>
  <i>Would you take it?</i>
</p><p>The storm surges again: a flicker of light bathing the house in a vivid blue. Zelda takes a leap just as quickly, pressing her lips to his. Sharp. Chaste. She’s gone with the lightning. Her heart’s in her throat. Fear no doubt etched across her features as she drinks in his blatant shock. It’s an offer of her own, should he take it.</p><p><i>Please,</i> she begs to anything and everything. <i>Please let him take it.</i></p><p>Three seconds is all that passes, and his hesitation nearly ruins her.</p><p>But, something in his expression goes off. Thunder finally follows that flash of lightning as his lips plant hard against hers, fervent. Whatever noise she makes only encourages him to roll her onto her back. Gone. Her senses are gone.</p><p>The sheets tangle. They’re cast aside without a second thought, white snaking to the floor.</p><p>He’s urged toward her into another kiss. Her hand draws along his back, feeling the muscles there just as Link's touch drags up her thigh to squeeze flesh. He rucks her gown above her waist. Fingers at her abdomen.</p><p>It’s while his lips are on her neck that she fumbles with the lacing at the front of her dress. The knots are stubborn. One, two- undone before he catches on to what she’s doing. Instead of demanding a shred of decency in their actions, he grabs the collar and tugs it down hard enough for the threads to tear.</p><p>Cold rushes over her skin- remedied in a second. Zelda knows she should be embarrassed of the sound she makes when he grabs her breasts- yet it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of his own voice. It's desperate, dancing on the line of a sob and a growl. A wave of pleasure courses through her, something more than her pulse drumming beneath her skin. He dips suddenly, and his tongue is wetting the center of curved flesh. She sobs from deep in her throat.</p><p>A hand slides down her back, arching her into him. Hips grind against one another- her core against his leg. Pleasure spikes again, and her head’s thrown back before she repeats the action; it draws, rakes Link’s voice out of him until he can only grit his teeth and fight against the impulse that's surely telling him to follow her example.</p><p><i>“Zelda,”</i> he says, dry. Parched. A hand moves to her hip, stilling her. <i>“-bad idea.”</i></p><p>She doesn’t trust his judgement.</p><p>Sweat’s already trailing down his neck with all the friction between them. Like rain, like that field. Lit up by a candle rather than a lantern now. Greedy. She’s greedy. She wants to see where it’s going. Working her fingers beneath his shirt, she grabs the hem and guides it over his shoulders. It’s thrown somewhere. Into the shadows it goes.</p><p>Firelight and bruises on his skin: a myriad of colors. The result of one reckless stunt to the next. Scars divide them in mismatched, jagged patterns, and she thinks of stained glass even though he’s nowhere near as fragile.</p><p>Zelda traces her nails along them, featherlight, yet enough to tease at their sensitivity. Link shuts his eyes with something she would have labeled a grimace if she didn’t know it was the exact opposite. Along his side, toned arms- the extent of his neck until she’s thumbing that scar on his cheek. He turns his head to press his face further into her touch. Whatever he’s saying she can’t understand- it’s all broken syllables that are quickly smeared against her lips.</p><p>Fabric twists in all their clumsy pawing- tugging her sleeve down her shoulder. She’s jerked away from him. It’s in the way. She hates it.</p><p><i>“Up,”</i> she weathers out the fragments of a command, pushing at his chest. “Off- I’m taking it off.”</p><p>A chill sweeps between them when he leans back. The new distance seems to clear the fog in his mind as she moves to draw her gown over her head.</p><p>
  <i>“Don’t.”</i>
</p><p>A word from him stops her in her tracks.</p><p>He’s staring down at his handiwork, looking adrift- lost on how they got here. She’s lying there panting in a torn nightgown: chest and shoulder bare. Sweat a sheen across her skin. If he’s searching for demurity he won’t find it.</p><p>The storm hasn’t let up. Why has he? </p><p>She’s waiting for an explanation. What comes out of his mouth hardly counts as one.</p><p>“You know where this is going.”</p><p>Zelda leans up onto her elbows. “I do.”</p><p>“I’ll stop here. Just tell me.” Starved: his last hope for control placed in her greedy hands.</p><p><i>“Don’t,”</i> she breathes, fervid.</p><p>It’s a blur of white when Zelda throws the gown over her head. Her hands reach out, grasping, seizing him by his arms. He doesn’t resist when she drags him down.</p><p>Stones in his pockets.</p><p>Into the deep he goes.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Ash and dirt at her feet. </p><p>“Are you sure you wanted to do that?” Link questions as if it isn’t already too late.</p><p>
  <i>Burn your things?</i>
</p><p>She nods, huffing in a confident manner. “They’re aren’t much use to me now, are they?” He contemplates that for a second- but the way he shrugs tells her he’s come to understand her meaning. Zelda dusts her hands off with a smile. “Shall we go, then?”</p><p>A hand raises to her cheek, his thumb sweeping across. Her smile is returned before his other hand lifts and a kiss is planted on her lips.</p><p>”Now we can,” is his declaration upon pulling away. She watches him amble off with some amusement. Well, he’s in a good mood isn’t he? That’s a good start. Zelda is still grinning when she wanders after him.</p><p>Packs onto horses. A hoof stomping into the dirt. Zelda runs her fingers through a mane as gold as her hair. It’s longer than hers now, though- cut away just that morning. It was more weight she didn’t need, she’d thought. </p><p>Link had cackled like a witch when she swallowed her pride and begged for his help in fixing the horrid mess she made of her own hair. She’s certain the whole town was woken up by his laughter- the <i>cretin.</i> He’s humming now, though: content as he tightens a saddle into place; it makes it impossible to be angry at him.</p><p>“You know,” he says, “Teba’s a good teacher. He can help you with the bow.”</p><p>“Oh? You think he’ll give me lessons?”</p><p>“Yep. He’ll probably offer the second he hears you’re learning.” Fondness there. Maybe he’s excited to visit old friends. “He’s… a little like Revali sometimes, but he’s got a soft spot.”</p><p><i>Ah,</i> old friends and even older memories.</p><p>“What is he? Haughty?”</p><p><i>“Haughty,”</i> he agrees with a toothy grin before glancing her way. “You’ll get along, though. You’re both pretty diligent.”</p><p>“I’m happy to hear it.” </p><p>A comfortable silence falls. Zelda takes the moment to breathe deeply. Crisp. Marigolds there. Thirty-three days after that storm and the winds still tell her there won’t be any more for quite some time.</p><p>Good. An easy trip.</p><p>“Ready?” his voice catches her attention again.</p><p>Zelda nods twice. Excitement’s there. “Yes!”</p><p>That looks to satisfy him. Clipping the Slate at her belt, they snatch up the reins and start leading their horses toward the bridge. Off into the wild they’ll go. Travelling without much aim. It was a decision they made quite some time ago. The wild has always had a way of fostering the better parts of them- something that’s a blessing now more than ever. The two of them have plenty to rediscover, after all.</p><p>There’s plenty of room out there for growth, isn’t there?</p><p>However, she can’t help but stop at the mouth of the bridge and stare back at their house. Much to her surprise, she knows she’ll miss this place. This town. Purah. Symin- she’s warmed up to the villagers over the last month, too, and them to her.</p><p>...Thadd is still wary of her, though; a work in progress.</p><p>Link was happy for that change. At least until Zelda finally tracked down Manny.</p><p>It’s bittersweet when she thinks of it all: of the forests, the fields- the study he had built for her at the back of the house.</p><p>They’d fit their lives to each other well here.</p><p>Wings flutter overhead, drawing her eyes skyward. The blues, golds, and pinks of dawn. Clouds drifting listless through the expanse.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Link asks when he realizes she’s stopped.</p><p>Zelda turns on her heel. His head’s cocked. Inquisitive.</p><p>“Committing it to memory is all,” she says, quiet.</p><p>The words stoke something in him. He does the same, a strange feeling overcomes her, and an old mystery finally unravels itself in her head.</p><p>Link’s face was turned to the sunset.</p><p>An ember in the encroaching black. Blinding. He’d stared at it anyway. Tired, lost, searching for something in the gaps between distant spires.</p><p><i>‘Link?’</i> she’d called, coming to a stop several paces ahead.</p><p>Wind dove from the land above and down the length of Sahasra Slope. Waves of green: flowing, rustling in the current. Hair from her back. Hair from his neck. Undone after all the chaos.</p><p><i>‘That’s it...?’</i> his words empty. <i>‘It’s over?’</i></p><p>The scenery before them was one they painted with their own hands, yet he gazed at it as if it were foreign to him. She suspected he wore that same expression the first moment he’d stepped out of his bed of slate and roses and took in the full expanse of Hyrule.</p><p>Although his face was only half visible, Zelda could see fear etched into his features beneath all that dried blood. Carvings into impenetrable stone. Cracks in the breastwork: a brighter red still seeping from that gash across his cheek.</p><p>An aim, she mused. A clear path ahead. Gone with the Beast. Nothing to guide him now.</p><p>The great unknown then was somehow less unknowable than now.</p><p><i>‘For now,’</i> an answer more from <i>Her</i> than herself. <i>‘For us.’</i></p><p>When he turned her way, all he did was look on in silence- search her weary frame for whatever he couldn’t find out there. The gold of her necklace reflected a ray of light across his face. Blinding. He’d stared at it anyway.</p><p>It wasn’t until his eyes flicked up from her necklace that blue met green, the fear melted away, and he seemed to find what he was after.</p><p><i>‘...Good,</i>’ Link said, and off they went to Kakariko.</p><p>Back then, she didn’t have a clue what had possessed him in that moment.</p><p>But now, crossing this bridge, Zelda thinks she knows what it was:</p><p>Hope.</p><p><br/>
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